


ritual union

by calcelmo



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Comfort Sex, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcelmo/pseuds/calcelmo
Summary: "I think your devotion is wasted," Chireadan said softly.Jaskier smiled reflexively, even though it hurt, this truth to be acknowledged."Then let it be appreciated elsewhere," he replied.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Chireadan (The Witcher), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Chireadan (The Witcher)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 447
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	ritual union

**Author's Note:**

> it is an honour to be the first person to write for this pairing! i love rarepairs so much. hope you enjoy, comments always appreciated <3
> 
> title from the little dragon song of the same name

Jaskier was immeasurably glad to see Geralt alive, but he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that struck sharply his heart. He sensed it, for different reason, that Chireadan felt the same.

Relief; soured by a bittersweet envy.

Gods, they were _loud._

Jaskier cleared his throat and he walked with the elf, further away, so their ears didn't have to be so assaulted.

"Did Yennefer ever return your, er- affections?" Jaskier asked, curious.

The elf's expression turned from satisfied to wistful. There was a moment's pause, before he turned to look at Jaskier.

"She didn't deter me," he answered. "And I may be a fool, but I'm no idiot. I knew she did not find me repulsive."

Jaskier clicked his tongue. "Oh, how could she?"

He made the remark offhand, and sat himself down on a rock. After a moment he became aware of Chireadan's gaze settling heavily over him.

He looked up and met his eyes, innocent.

"You don't care for Yennefer," Chireadan said, tilting his head slightly.

Jaskier snorted. "Not at all. Forgive me, Chireadan, but she's a sorceress. It's in her nature to wrap men around her little finger and I'm immune."

"Immune?" Chireadan raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier flushed. "Well, not immune. I've seen her-" He caught himself before he could offend his enamoured companion. "It's that my heart won't divert its suicidal course," he finished.

Chireadan nodded sagely. "The witcher."

Jaskier sighed. He'd come to terms with the truth a long time ago; it was written plainly enough on his lovesick face, why not make a bald proclamation of it?

"Indeed. And you're in much the same position, my friend," he observed.

Chireadan's eyes flickered up to meet his, wearing a small, thoughtful frown.

Jaskier's eyes widened. The melancholic atmosphere dissolved into something more heated. To his credit, the elf was calm, merely holding Jaskier's gaze in silent query.

A grin spread slowly across Jaskier's face. "Well," he said, pressing his tongue between his teeth in a gleeful smile.

"I think your devotion is wasted," Chireadan said softly.

Jaskier smiled reflexively, even though it hurt, this truth to be acknowledged.

"Then let it be appreciated elsewhere," he replied.

Chireadan stood, walking the brief distance before he knelt at Jaskier's feet, looking up at him in earnest. "I can show you what you deserve."

Jaskier leant down to kiss him, a chaste, gratified brushing of lips.

"We will go into that house," he whispered. "And I want us to be louder than them."

Chireadan laughed. "So be it."

*

They crept silently past their fornicating companions and into a further wing of the house. The place was wrecked, with broken glass strewn about the floor, but the four poster bed, while ancient and thick with dust, was intact.

They took time in divesting each other of clothes. They pretended they were the only two people in the world, and while it was temporary, it was functional.

"I don't need oil, don't care," Jaskier muttered, as Chireadan stopped his inquisitive, thorough touches in search of lubrication.

"Be patient," Chireadan admonished him. He rubbed a thumb over Jaskier's cheek, looking him far too tenderly in the eye. "I mustn't hurt you."

The moment he ceased his infuriatingly careful preparation and replaced his fingers with his cock, Jaskier forgot how to breathe.

It had been too long since he'd been fucked. Some superstitious sense of hope had kept him from men while he was travelling Geralt. It was his way of saying 'you're the only man I want', but as always, Geralt was inscrutable.

He'd missed this. And Chireadan was _intense._ Maybe it was an elf thing. More likely he'd found himself a fellow romantic.

Chireadan put paid to the myth that elves did everything with grace and finesse, because the way he was kissing was desperate and messy.

"Pin my arms," Jaskier whispered, arching his back. Chireadan's thrusts stuttered as he grabbed Jaskier by the wrists, spreading his arms out and holding them against the floor.

When he came, his teeth sank lightly into Jaskier's neck, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to prompt his own orgasm with a breathless groan.

He felt seed slick his inner thighs as Chireadan carefully pulled his cock free. Nothing ever really came close to the feeling of claiming or being claimed as such, some primal law that bonded them.

Chireadan lay on his back and pulled Jaskier close, barely even out of breath. This mutual need for contact doubled as a lesson in elven biology. Ever curious, he wasn't complaining.

"I'm going to write a song about your cock," Jaskier murmured, before dissolving into breathless laughter.

Chireadan cupped his face and kissed him sweetly. "That is not for which I wish to be remembered."

"Tough. It's the most remarkable thing about you," the bard replied with a wink. Chireadan allowed himself to laugh, an elven melody, before his features shifted into seriousness.

"I love you," he said somberly.

Jaskier opened his eyes and looked at him, questioning. He saw it written plainly in the elf's angular features, a weakness, a desperate desire for emotional connection.

And Jaskier understood, perhaps better than anyone. He had written love songs about whores he'd spent less than a night with.

Chireadan was sweet. He wanted to say it back, because it didn't matter- they both knew there was no passion behind it, only a lonely camaraderie, but maybe if he said it, he'd magic it into being.

Try as he might, as much as his tongue traced determinedly the formation of the syllables, he couldn't force them past his lips.

Jaskier always knew he'd say them, but awaiting death in the arms of the golden-eyed bastard he chose to believe was clueless, instead of heartless- not here in the ruins of a ravaged house, in response to brittle words on an elven tongue.

"I can't," Jaskier whispered, with true regret, and whatever came before love. "I'm sorry, Chireadan."

The elf smiled ruefully. "No matter."

Jaskier turned to face him properly, curling locks of Chireadan's hair around his fingers in silent apology.

The elf sounded at peace when he reasoned, "At least this is within reach."


End file.
